<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The First Christmas, After. by idelthoughts</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385930">The First Christmas, After.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts'>idelthoughts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mortinez Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Forever (TV 2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence, Drinking &amp; Talking, Episode Tag, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Male-Female Friendship, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s01e11 Skinny Dipper, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Het, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:42:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmas, and Jo and Henry could both use a little distraction from their losses. Jo is moving on, but Henry doesn't know if he ever will.</p>
<p>(a prequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758253">Auld Lang Syne</a>)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jo Martinez &amp; Henry Morgan, Jo Martinez/Henry Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mortinez Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/483370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The First Christmas, After.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a prequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758253">Auld Lang Syne</a>, which was one of the first fics I wrote in this fandom over six (six!!) years ago. This is less phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes, and more zombie-clawing-out-of-the-grave, but... better late than never?</p>
<p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver">LadySilver</a> for the beta work, as always.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry rested his elbows on the padded edge of the bar and eyed the wall of dimly lit bottles. Someone had done a gaudy decorating job on the bar, stringing garlands and fake plastic greenery around the mirror in a haphazard exaltation of Christmas gaiety. </p>
<p>The bartender who took their order was sporting a red Santa hat, but spared them the holiday cheer. He merely handed them their drinks and left them be, for which Henry was grateful.</p>
<p>“Thanks for coming out,” Jo said, and clinked her glass to his.</p>
<p>“Thank you for the invitation.” He had to force a smile, but Jo seemed pleased with his effort.</p>
<p>His knees still ached and his arm and back muscles burned from scrubbing at the blood stains on the cement floor in his laboratory—each day he worked at it, but the stain lingered. Abe had complained that the bleach fumes were giving him a headache two floors up and ordered Henry to leave the house before he had to fetch Henry from the river due to death by toxic fumes.</p>
<p>Jo had called in the midst of their bickering, and when Abe started scowling at Henry’s weak excuses while he tried to refuse her offer, Henry relented and agreed to meet her for a drink.</p>
<p>Jo swivelled towards him on the bar stool. “So? How’s your week off been?” When he only looked at her with a raised eyebrow, she wrinkled her nose. “Right. Stupid question.”</p>
<p>He chuckled and shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s been fine.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh, sure. Drink up and then I’ll ask you again later.”</p>
<p>“That’s quite the interrogation technique, Detective.” He took a large swallow of the whiskey and breathed through the burn that spread through his chest.</p>
<p>“It’s not an interrogation, Henry. It’s called talking. You know, like friends do.” She softened, her sincerity making her uncharacteristically hesitant. “I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”</p>
<p>His heart thrilled with a spike of adrenaline before he purposefully relaxed his shoulders and slowed his breathing. He put his glass down and turned towards her fully, automatically slipping into the calm, easy demeanour that he’d cultivated through long practice. He draped it over every lie, every fear, a comfortable barrier between him and the world—between him and the truth.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Jo. I am.” He tipped his head to the side and made a prevaricating noise, putting on a show of poking fun at himself. “Though Abe is a little tired of my ongoing company. He’d grown used to having me out of the house each day.”</p>
<p>She continued to stare him down, unmoving and silent—waiting him out. He might as well be on the other side of the interrogation room table. She was far too canny and had known him too long to be rebuffed by his cavalier denial.</p>
<p>She’d seen him terrified out of his mind, holding a murder weapon and preparing to flee the country; she’d held his hands, ice-cold with shock, after the EMTs had cleaned the blood from them, when he’d felt as empty of life as Clark Walker’s body. His mask had worn thin with her, and she saw straight through.</p>
<p>And, she’d saved him; she’d saved the life he had here. He owed her more than this. He ducked his head, ashamed.</p>
<p>“I’m… I’m well enough. It hasn’t been—” He cleared his throat and tapped the side of his glass. He was long out of practice sharing his true thoughts. When he looked back to her, he was grateful to see that her disappointment had eased and was instead replaced with a weary understanding. “I’m glad to have your company. Thank you,” he said.</p>
<p>She gave him a gentle nudge on the arm.</p>
<p>“Well, I needed a reason to get out of the house too,” she said lightly. “Consider it your Christmas charity, getting all us shut-ins and workaholics out socializing.” She smiled to make it a joke, but she quickly shifted her gaze away to some glittering holiday decoration behind the bar and took a deep, long drink from her glass.</p>
<p>Watching her now, he wondered at his own self-absorbed ignorance. The events of the last week had dulled his senses.</p>
<p>“The first few holidays after losing someone are difficult.”</p>
<p>She darted a glance at him, then away again. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” </p>
<p>What a pair, the two of them. Henry would have laughed if he didn’t feel quite so numb. He finished the rest of his drink and signalled for another. Jo did the same, and they both accepted the second round placed in front of them. </p>
<p>“Do you have plans for your holiday?” he asked.</p>
<p>Jo nodded. “Yeah. My mom’s in Philly now, so’s my sister and her family. I’m going to drive down there for Christmas Day. How about you? Any family?”</p>
<p>“Just Abe,” he said with a small smile. “Other than him, no.”</p>
<p>“He’s a nice guy.” </p>
<p>Henry’s smile widened, becoming genuine. “Yes, he is. I’m very lucky to have him.”</p>
<p>They drifted on to work topics for a while, and Jo managed to lure him out of his funk with a tantalizing cold case she’d been looking into. Their drinks disappeared as they talked, and he didn’t notice Jo discreetly order another round until his hand closed around the full glass. Only when he stood to excuse himself to the washroom and his head swirled around did he realize that he’d lost count of the toasts and glasses that had come and gone throughout their evening.</p>
<p>Jo had her head propped on one fist and was drawing aimless patterns in the water droplets on the tabletop when he returned from the washroom. Her finger dragged through the ring from the bottom of the glass, tracing the line of a figure eight as she chewed on her lip. She caught sight of him from the corner of her eye and lifted her head, lighting up; a genuine and sweet expression, framed by pink cheeks and dark soft hair, and he was struck by how radiant she was when she smiled at him like that.</p>
<p>The unexpected observation and wave of warm desire hit him like a slap. He took a moment to let the feeling pass, and then lowered himself onto the stool. He regretted the drinks. The last thing he needed was such nonsense clouding his head. He always had been an emotional drunk.</p>
<p>“Time to call it a night?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.</p>
<p>Her smile had shifted, that sardonic edge back in her voice. He nodded with an apologetic wave of his hand, once more on familiar ground as he settled into their safe routine.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid so, Detective. An early morning awaits.”</p>
<p>“You’re on leave, Henry. Where have you got to be?”</p>
<p>“I do have my own research to conduct,” he said with airy aloofness.</p>
<p>Jo raised an eyebrow, tilting her head just so, and he tried to hide his smile. Even the smallest hint of his life outside work piqued her interest, pricking up like the ears of a wolf on the scent of elusive prey. She narrowed her eyes when she registered his amusement.</p>
<p>“Fine, go experiment in your basement. But I’m going to drag you out again when I get back. Hanson is having a New Years party next week and everyone’s invited. We can carpool.”</p>
<p>“Oh...” Taken off-guard by her casual invitation—no, declaration—he was at a loss for a ready excuse. “Well, Abe and I—”</p>
<p>“Abe can come. I’ll call him.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Henry pressed his lips together, chagrined. Abe would just love that.</p>
<p>And there was that damned sparkle in her eye again. She had his number a little too well. With a shake of his head and a chuckle, Henry resigned himself to his fate.</p>
<p>It wasn’t, overall, the worst torture he’d endured.</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to tell her so—</p>
<p>—the taste of foul river water poured over his tongue, and he nearly gagged.</p>
<p>In the sinking taxi cab, water was everywhere. It pulled at his clothes like hungry hands. It poured in around him as he clawed at the locked door, his nails ripping and bleeding as they caught in the vinyl, as he screamed and air bubbled out of him to be replaced by water until—</p>
<p>Henry gasped as something touched his wrist. He jerked back; his glass clattered on the bar top. The dregs of his drink fanned out across the wood and dripped over the edge onto his lap.</p>
<p>Recalled to his senses, Henry sucked in a deep breath, then another, and blinked away water that was just tears in his eyes. Warm indoor air flowed through his nose; the heavy scents of rich food and drink, Jo’s light floral perfume, the pungent fumes of his spilled drink. When he breathed out he could taste the smoky whiskey that lingered on his tongue like fire laced with fear.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I should be going.” He forced the apology through a tight throat and tighter smile as he righted his glass. He slid off the stool unsteadily. “I suppose I was more tired than I thought.”</p>
<p>“Henry—” She reached for him again but stopped when he flinched away. She put her hand flat on the bar top. The sheer fabric of her blouse sleeve grew dark where it soaked up drops of his spilled drink. “Henry, if you need anything…”</p>
<p>He couldn’t bear the kindness in her eyes.</p>
<p>He groped in his jacket pocket for his wallet. With trembling fingers, he tossed some money on the bar; he didn’t bother to count it.</p>
<p>“Have a pleasant visit with your family, Detective.” He gave her a curt nod. He couldn’t look at her directly; her painful compassion would undo him. “Best of the Season to you.”</p>
<p>She didn’t say anything. Like a coward, he turned away.</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas, Henry,” Jo said quietly behind him. “I’ll see you on New Years.”</p>
<p>He hesitated as he tried to formulate a polite refusal, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He put his head down and spurred himself to move. Stepping out of the stifling bar into the frigid night air like he was drowning all over again as the icy cold drove spikes deep into his heaving lungs. He hurried homeward along the sidewalks packed with last-minute shoppers.</p>
<p>He would lose himself in his work—his <em>real</em> work. Now more than ever, he needed to know how to end this cursed immortality. If he could kill himself, then he could kill Adam. How else would he ever be able to stop an undying psychopath?</p>
<p>And while he worked, he would tackle a problem nearly as difficult: formulating an excuse to recuse himself from the New Year’s festivities at Detective Hanson’s home and Jo’s overbearing care. He was certain he could come up with something.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been deep-diving into my WIPs these past few weeks as I've been doing a Forever rewatch with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver">LadySilver</a>, and found a few stand-alone snippets that just need some tweaking, titles, and summaries (which is the worst part, honestly).</p>
<p>I really missed writing in this tiny little fandom.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>